Natalie Palmer
by ibelieveinguardianangels
Summary: "The teen tilted her head slightly at the sound of the consulting detective's voice as she balanced precariously on the edge of the old building." Sherlock Holmes is there for Natalie Palmer, a member of the Homeless Network. Sorry for the bad summary. One-Shot. COMPLETE.


**This story deals with the concept of suicide. Nothing comes of it, but I figured it would be best to mention it.**

 **Introducing Natalie Palmer.**

 **Sorry for any mistakes.**

"Natalie, you don't want to do this."

The teen tilted her head slightly at the sound of the consulting detective's voice but refused to turn around. Her old, worn and unlaundered clothing hung baggy on her underweight frame as she balanced precariously on the edge of the old building.

With just a simple movement, she could go falling to her death. And would, if Sherlock couldn't stop her.

"I can see that you're hurting, but if you'll allow me, I can help. Will you do that, Natalie? Will you let me help you?"

Below Natalie, on the ground, stood John Watson accompanied by his beloved wife Mary and Detective Inspector Lestrade. They were all staring up at her, watching, anticipating.

Sherlock couldn't even begin to fathom how poor John must be feeling right now, knowing that his best friend was, once again, up on a rooftop.

"I want to help you." Sherlock changed tactic. His voice remained low, calm and coaxing, trying to convey to her that there was another option. There was _always_ another option. "I know that you're being wrongly accused, Natalie, and I can do something about it. I can _prove_ that you're not to be blamed. But what would be the point if you do this?"

Sherlock took a step forward only to be stopped by a violent;

"Stay there!"

He obliged.

Anything that he could do to get her away from the edge, he would.

Natalie Palmer was a member of Sherlock's Homeless Network. She was highly intelligent and had been assisting Sherlock on a case when the murderer had struck again. Natalie had been framed for the murder and Anderson and Donovan were adamant that she had done it.

Sherlock knew that Natalie was innocent, but he couldn't figure out a way to prove it.

"Don't do this, Natalie," Sherlock spoke again.

She tilted her head so that she could see the consulting detective and was a little confused to see him shrugging off his Belstaff and removing his scarf. He carefully lay both on the floor of the roof, his eyes never once leaving Natalie's frame.

She had never seen him without his coat and his scarf – it was strange.

It took her a few moments to figure out what he was doing and she found herself frowning as she realised that he was 'baring' himself to her. Removing his coat was like removing his shield and, in a sense, he was now naked and vulnerable. He was, clearly, trying to appear less intimidating.

"Natalie, please."

Sherlock's face had taken on an odd expression, one that Natalie couldn't recall ever seeing before. He looked… upset.

"My Homeless Network is like a family to me," he admitted, "losing you would be like losing a sister. Please, Natalie. Just come to me; let me help you."

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, his heart dropping into his stomach, as she moved.

It took him a few moments to figure out that she had turned around so that she was facing him. She hesitated for a moment before stepping down from the ledge. She flew across the rooftop and crashed into the consulting detective's open arms, hiding her head in the space between his collar bone and his chin.

"Good girl." Sherlock soothed. "Good girl."

His thin arms wrapped tightly around her as he allowed her to cry against him. He could feel her heart pounding beneath the thin, scraggy material she called a shirt and was certain that his was doing exactly the same.

Once the crying slowed, he scooped down, picking up the scarf and carefully wrapping it around her neck before helping her into the coat. He wrapped an arm around her and led her from the roof and as far away from the building as he could, signalling to Mary, John and Lestrade to not follow them.

They ended up in Baker Street. Sitting on the sofa in the living room of 221B, both nursing a mug of hot tea and some of Mrs. Hudson's homemade biscuits. Both were silent, Sherlock trying to figure out _how_ to prove that Natalie was innocent.

 **I know the point of view switches between Sherlock and Natalie, but it was the only the story would flow.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **ibelieveinguardianangels**


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